Trois
by Mistress Reigns
Summary: Cesaro leaves the Real Americans and becomes a Paul Heyman Guy. What should simply be a decent career move turns into so much more when two of his fellow wrestlers suddenly decide he's caught their eye.
1. Chapter One

_**Every Step I Take Is Another Mistake To You**_

Real men do not cry. How many times has he heard this expression in his life? Too many to count. Real, true men do not cry. They do not have their feelings hurt because they are not supposed to have feelings in the first place. So when the stinging comments start, he largely forces himself to ignore them because he knows better than to show any sign of weakness to his lover. Besides, his Swedish heritage is something to be proud of and he isn't the least bit ashamed he wasn't born in America. Why should he be? It does not make him any less of a wrestler, and plenty of the best wrestlers in the business—Barrett, McIntyre, and Sheamus—are incredible wrestlers who were not born in America. He assumes he'll simply be another one of the imports and doesn't much mind it until Jack starts making comments about it. Truth be told, he wouldn't even be in this stable if he had a choice, but the Authority thought it would be amusing and so here he is, pretending to be patriotic for a country he isn't from.

And it doesn't matter that he's legally an American citizen because he _is,_ but he only really went through with it because Marta insisted it would make entering the WWE easier for the both of them. She was right. Having their citizenship makes it easier to travel, they never have to leave the country to deal with Visas or worry about having to. They can be here for as long as they like to be, and they can up and head back to Sweden when they want to. It works out in their favor.

It starts out as a joke, he thinks. Jack cuffs him on the shoulder as he's leaving the shower and makes the remark. "It's not like you're a _real_ American. I mean, you're technically Swedish."

"Try telling that to Hunter for me," Cesaro mutters, heading into the shower himself.

He tried himself, telling Hunter that no one was going to take him seriously as a Real American because the shtick is stupid and he happens to be from Sweden. He has an _accent,_ for God's sake, but Hunter just shook his head and told him to roll with it and Colter was a good manager. No, Colter was _not_ a good manager but Cesaro doesn't have the build-up in the company he needs right now anyway. How could he just walk out when he needed the company more than the company needed him? So he stays in the Real Americans and Jack's jabs start getting to the point where Cesaro can tell they're not supposed to be jokes anymore. He's being serious.

"I don't see the fucking point in even keeping this stupid team going." Jack throws his bag down one night after another loss, then turns on him, shoving him up against the wall. "You are fucking useless foreign trash and I shouldn't have to step in that ring with you."

Cesaro sucks in a harsh breath and shoves Jack off of him. "Then don't." And he stalks off.

Not that Jack lets him get far. Before he can even reach the door, Jack's hand is in front of his face, keeping the door firmly in the frame. Not that he can't knock Jack off and leave anyway, but still. "I'm sorry. Look, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. I'm just... I'm just frustrated and tired, you know? Just... Lashing out." He feels Jack's forehead against the back of his head, warm breath on the back of his neck, and he thinks he understands lashing out.

"If you every say that again..." He trails off, not sure what the threat will be.

And Jack invents a suitable one for him. "I won't. I don't want you to leave me."

It's an isolated incident at the time; Cesaro lets it go. In the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn't let it go because it was _bad_, but he lets it go like an idiot nonetheless. He lets himself believe Jack didn't mean the words he said even though he knows very well Jack meant them.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Jack lashes out again the next week when they lose again, not shoving him up against the wall, not this time. Instead, he gets thrown into the lockers, the protruding bits of metal digging into his back hard enough to leave bruises. "Why don't you go back to fucking pansy ass Sweden? You don't _belong_ in this fucking company."

Colter is in the room at the time and tries to keep them separated, but Jack shoves the man out of the way and throws a punch that Cesaro wisely ducks. Another curse leaves Jack's lips when his knuckles collide with cold metal, but Cesaro can't bring himself to care as he grabs his bag and starts for the door, intent on just getting out of here and finding another bus to crash on for the night. If he plays the pity card, maybe 3MB will be kind enough to lend him a spot.

"I'm finished. I'm done with this," he fires back over his shoulder before bolting from the room, letting the door slam behind him as he hurries down the hallway. Best to get some distance now.

He stumbles out of the venue into the freezing night air, wishing he had time to put on his jacket, before hurrying over to the bus he knows belongs to the Three Man Band. Three knocks is enough to have the door swinging open, Heath Slater standing in the doorway with his shock of bright orange hair just as vivid as it is in the daylight. He cocks his head, dark eyes flashing as he takes in Cesaro's appearance. "Not that I have a problem with you being here or anything, but it's pretty late at night to come knocking. Can we help you with something?"

"Just... Had a fight with my partner and don't think it's a good idea to stay the night with him. Not on a bus." When Heath wrinkles his nose in confusion and starts to say something, no doubt a turn down, Cesaro pulls out the big guns without even thinking twice about it. He wants to get away from Jack tonight, and if that means showing off his back, so be it. Quickly, he spins around and lifts up the back of his shirt. "He just did this to me. If you don't mind, I'd really like to stay with you guys just for tonight. But if you can't let me on, I'll understand that, too."

Heath's sharp intake of breath coupled with warm fingers on his cold back pretty much cements he's getting a spot on the bus tonight. Sure enough, Heath invites him on with a sharp look at his fellow "bandmates" when they start to ask questions. Drew falls silent first and swings his legs off of the couch and onto the floor, offering Cesaro the spot beside him. Cesaro takes it, pulling his knees to his chest and trying to hold very still so as not to rub his bruising back against the couch and irritate it further. The last thing he wants to do is cause himself more pain; the ache echoing through his chest is more than enough all by itself. Funny, how he honestly thought Jack would just stop because he said he would. When has Jack ever just stopped?

"Want a drink?" Drew offers, holding a bottle out to him, the questions lingering in his eyes that he refuses to speak. Good for him; so few people understand that there are some questions that should never be asked. This bus is the best place he could have ended up, then.

The bonus is that Jack doesn't happen to be on it and likely never will be.

It's Jack's words that drive him away from the "Real" Americans. Jack's words that echo in his ears when he storms up to Cesaro after the announcement, demanding to know what the fuck he was thinking even though Cesaro has made it perfectly clear that he doesn't want Jack in his life any longer. Choosing Paul Heyman was a fast way to escape. He wanted new talent, and Cesaro needed a new manager. It made a cruel kind of sense because they do need each other whereas Colter didn't need him and Jack made it very clear he never wanted him.

Lesnar claps him on the shoulder when he passes him, grinning at him in welcome before heading into the arena for his won match. He gets no more than a few steps in before he's picked up, barely holding back a scream before realizing it's only Ryback and breathing a sigh of relief. Curtis Axel is there a moment later, slapping him on the back to congratulate him. So much for that bullshit about not being Paul Heyman guys anymore. Of course, what is often said in the ring means so very little when compared to what happens backstage, and Heyman is a good guy.

"Thought you two didn't work with Heyman anymore," Cesaro mumbles when they set him down, his hands still fastened tight to the trophy he brought with him out of the match.

"Only to the fans, man. Only to the fans." Curtis slaps him on the back, not hard enough for it to hurt but hard enough for it to be felt. "As far as they know, it's just us and Heyman isn't in the picture anymore. But he's a hell of a manager and we need him. And now you're one of us. How does that feel, being a Paul Heyman guy? It's fucking great, isn't it?"

Ryback nods and drapes an arm across his shoulders, and Cesaro smiles despite himself, warmed by the personalities of the other two men. And he didn't even get along with them prior to now. "He's going to do wonders with you, man. You're on the way up and you're gonna go way fucking up. All you gotta do is lay back and relax because you got it made now."

He's standing backstage between Axel and Ryback weeks later when the "deportation list" is first brought out, eyes narrowing slightly when he sees his name at the very top. The first name they wrote down was his; he isn't even the least bit surprised by this at all. Next to him, Ryback bristles and growls, his hands curling into fists that shake. On the other side, Axel just makes a disgusted noise and shakes his head; all of them seem to be of the opinion this has gone too far. Even Heyman is on the list, and Cesaro just rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face. Amazing how the Authority will let this go on without realizing how damaging it is.

"Funny how they want to deport you _now,_" Ryback mutters, and Cesaro grins up at him.

Axel shakes his head and drops his hand on Cesaro's shoulder, squeezing. "This is such bullshit. You know what? You're from Sweden and you're fucking cool. Being Swedish isn't _bad._"

"Sheamus is on the list. Marta is not going to take kindly to that. Funny how _she_ isn't on the list and she's Swedish too." Ryback snorts and Cesaro has to muffle laughter against the palm of his hand. "Swagger is just jealous you aren't with them anymore. Now they officially suck."

"We officially sucked even when I was still on the team. We couldn't win at all," Cesaro argues because he can't take credit for something he couldn't do then but can do now. The looks the tag team sends him make him furrow his brow. "What? It's true. Whether or not I'm with them, they sucked. There's not really a way to change that."

Ryback shakes his head, his hand dropping on Cesaro's shoulder as well until he's more or less flanked by the two men. "Dude, no. _You_ were the only thing that was ever good in that team. _You_ were the only part worth watching. Swagger is washed-up."

There's not much he can think to say in response to those words, so Cesaro just nods and continues to watch the screen, smirking when Adam Rose comes out and interrupts. And who really cares if Zeb Colter and Jack Swagger think he should be deported when weeks ago they considered him one of them? He isn't a Real American anymore. There's no reason to worry about Swagger when he knows the guy is just going to end up jobbing because no one really wants to put him over. Getting busted for using steroids tends to piss off the older wrestlers.

"I don't want to watch this anymore. It's starting to get pathetic," Axel mutters, and as if the two of them are connected, Ryback reaches forward and shuts off the television. Cesaro doesn't comment, but they were right. This is getting pathetic and he's glad it's turned off.

"Let's find somewhere quiet for a change," Ryback says, and Cesaro startles a bit when he realizes the big man is talking to him and not to Axel. And they're both staring at him.

The three of them have become not-quite-friends since he joined up as a Heyman Guy after winning the trophy, but he doesn't really know why he's suddenly being included in their plans to leave. Usually, they bid him farewell and walk off together, talking about whatever it is they happen to be discussing at the time. Cesaro doesn't mind because he is hardly that petty or stupid, but he feels oddly happy nodding and falling in step with him, remaining silent while they start discussing what was just on the screen. _"Clearly, Colter is an idiot." "Swagger is worse. He's following the old man." "I would've pulled his mustache harder." "Oh yeah. Way harder."_

It takes him a few minutes to realize their hands are still in place on his shoulders, and he wonders at that before letting it go. Nothing to worry about. Not this time. Neither of these men have caused him actual damage. No one has called him useless or trash since he joined up with them. No one has made him uncomfortable. What should he be afraid of or worry about?

He ends up on the unofficial Heyman Guy bus, the position a little awkward. His back is against Ryback's chest, his feet propped up in Axel's lap, but it could be worse and it's actually quite pleasant. No one's ever just sat and held him before. Jack never even gave it a thought.

"You okay, man?" Ryback asks, the words coming out in a soft breath on the back of his neck.

It's reminiscent of the first time Jack said he was sorry, but it's a lot more pleasant and he doesn't ache from being thrown into a wall. "Fine, yes. You?"

"We're both good, thanks," Axel answers for him, and the hum of agreement Ryback offers rumbles against Cesaro's back. "Just... Yeah, we're good. Just getting to sit here with you is a pretty damn great thing, actually. Heyman even thinks we're doing better in the ring."

"Because we share a manager? I'm afraid I'm not following." His accent thickens with his confusion, and he scowls slightly at it. Why does it have to do that?

Axel looks at a loss for words, one hand coming to rest on top of Cesaro's ankle. His thumb strokes over the delicate bones there and Cesaro isn't even sure Axel has any idea he's doing it. "Just, like... You're a great addition and now we get to work with you all the time. Like, we're learning from you and from watching you and from just having you around. You're great."

"Really great. Like. One of the best," Ryback adds, and Cesaro flushes slightly.

"You'll be the best one day." Axel grins broadly. "I know you will be."

Cesaro doesn't get a chance to respond to the oddly sweet and heartwarming words before his chin is tilted up and back, Ryback's lips layering over his in an unusually sweet kiss for such a big man. As soon as that breaks, Axel is suddenly balanced above him, one hand on the back of the couch and the other on the edge of the cushions, gripping tightly to hold himself up before his lips brush over Cesaro's as well. It's... Odd, to say the least because Cesaro isn't even into the idea of a relationship right now... But he thinks they can make it work anyway.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Things Ain't How They Used To Be**_

Things progress at a strange rate and Ryback decides to stop keeping track of it.

He and Curtis had an understanding that one day, they would find someone that made their little relationship work. They were a packaged deal far beyond being a tag team and that wasn't likely to change any time soon. Granted, they had tried to make just the two of them work but there was something missing and it took them a hell of a long time to figure out that something was another person. By the time they figured it out, the ten year anniversary of Curtis's dad's death had come and gone and they were both clinging to each other for reasons the other barely understood. For Curtis, it was pure loss. For Ryback, it was just having someone to cling to.

Hell, they'd had a fight the night before and it was only early in the morning when Heyman had called him and told him to "make it right" that he realized what day it was. Frantic to fix what he had done, he'd ended up at the front desk of the hotel they were staying in trying to convince the woman there that he knew Curtis well enough that he should be able to get his room number if nothing else. It ended with him pulling up a video of them tag teaming together on his phone before she finally relented and gave him the room number. Then it was another ten, fifteen minutes of knocking on the door and pleading through it while other guests cracked their doors open to watch—the other wrestlers didn't even try to hide they were watching it unfold.

When Curtis finally opened the door, he was a mess. "I know. I know I fucked up. I just—"

"I'm not letting you in because I want to let you in," Curtis had snapped before standing back, waving for him to step into the dark interior of the room. "I'm letting you in because I _need_ to and because I don't want to listen to you bang on the door anymore. Jesus fucking Christ, were you going to break it down if I didn't open it or what? You hit _hard._"

"Dunno. Maybe. I didn't think about it." As soon as he stepped into the room and the door closed, Curtis was in his arms and muttering at him to just shut the fuck up and not say anything.

It wasn't easy admitting they weren't whole together and it became a battle to figure out who could complete their little trio without being too obvious about it to the other men they had to see on a daily basis. And there was no conversation about _who_ they were interested in; it seemed easier to have no expectations and just hope that person inevitably showed up as opposed to actively searching for someone. There were some guys they were interested in on different levels but no one who quite fit until Cesaro gave them reason to wonder if maybe he might be the right fit. And him joining them as a Paul Heyman Guy made that easier for them to figure out.

"Well, we're facing the Brotherhood at _Payback_," Curtis announces jovially, flopping down on the couch and draping an arm across their third partner's shoulders with a wide grin.

Considering it's Saturday night and _Payback_ is tomorrow… "Since when?" Ryback asks.

"Since like ten minutes ago?" Curtis seems to mull it over before shrugging. "And then the Usos on Tuesday for _SmackDown._ Dude, cheer up. We're going to a pay-per-view event. _All_ of us."

"That's going to be big for you two even if it is a throwaway match. I'm proud." Cesaro is half-asleep against Ryback's shoulder, worn down from the house shows and not really coherent but it's still sweet to say. Curtis catches him by the jaw and turns his head, kissing him softly before smirking up at Ryback as if to say _ha._ Well, Cesaro does have a point. It _is_ a big deal.

Ryback just decides not to think very hard about it and wraps his arm around Cesaro's waist, stroking his hip through the fabric of the t-shirt covering it. "Thanks, babe."

Both of them are in just boxers and t-shirts because they are lazy fucks who can't be bothered to wear real clothes unless they have to. This is their bus, just theirs, and if they decide to wear fuck all on it, then so be it. Paul literally does not care because he's seen it all considering his tenure in the original ECW and then what he did in the WWE when it was still the WWF. Hell, he's sitting at the little booth thing across from them on his laptop, seemingly fine with the fact that there are two guys in just boxers and t-shirts sitting across from him. He doesn't even react when Curtis stands to shed his shoes, socks, and jeans. In that order. Ryback spares a glance for his lover, admiring Curtis's body like he has so, so many times in the ring. He's a bad boy.

"Did you know about us being booked tomorrow and you just didn't tell us?" Curtis asks as he changes out of his t-shirt and into an older, worn one he wears around the bus when they're bumming around like now. It's a Mr. Perfect t-shirt and maybe Ryback's throat got a little tight the first time he saw it. _Maybe._ "Because that totally caught me off-guard and everything."

Paul glances up from his laptop, hands pausing in position over the keyboard, and Ryback has to credit the guy for all he's done for this company. Even if his main job is to make Cesaro look good and scream _My client, Brock Lesnar, conquered the Undertaker's undefeated streak at WrestleMania,_ he does what he has to do and he gets out there and does it. Even if it means playing scared of Sheamus—though honestly, Ryback might be a little intimidated by the big Irishman too, _might_—or just in general talking shit on the microphone. He gets the job done, he gets the heat, and that's more than a lot of the heels today do. Some of them aren't even really good at being heels because the fans love them too damn much to ever hate them. But at heart, Paul is just a really good manager and Ryback is damn glad to be one of his clients because he knows he's going to go somewhere at this rate. When he was first forced to team with Curtis, he wasn't so certain and then Heyman took them over and fixed things for them. He even brought in Lesnar to train them and teach them how to be a good tag team.

"I lobbied for some kind of match with you two in it. Them putting you with the Brotherhood was a bit unexpected." Paul shrugs. "But I'll take what I can get. It's not a bad spot to have."

Cesaro yawns again and his pretty brown eyes start to drift closed, proving he's beyond exhausted and probably needs to get to bed. So Ryback nudges him gently in the side until he grumbles. "Come on, let's get you in bed before you fall off the couch or something."

Of course, Cesaro shakes his head and grabs Ryback around the waist, holding tight to him in an effort to make sure no one moves him from the couch. It'd kind of cute watching him struggle to stay awake and stay away from being taken back to the bunks and tucked in so he can be properly rested for tomorrow. Back when Kassius was still part of the company, he once playfully told Ryback that Cesaro would push himself to stay awake as long as he could just to prove people wrong when they told him he was too tired to stay up much longer.

"I don't want to go to bed," he mumbles, his Swiss accent even thicker as a result of being so exhausted. Poor guy. "I can stay up as late as you can no matter what you think."

"Nah, you're tired," Curtis says, poking Cesaro in the ribs until he whines and swats at him.

Ryback chuckles; he can't help himself. "Exactly. You're going to bed. You have a huge match."

"I have a huge competitor." Cesaro scrubs at his eyes. "I wouldn't call the match that, though."

Curtis just sighs and stands, and Ryback helps him manhandle Cesaro into a standing position just so Curtis can sweep him off of his feet and carry him back to the bunks. "It's a huge match. Sheamus is an amazing wrestler and this is going to carry over into a feud that will absolutely sell you both to the crowd just the way you need to be. No arguing with me."

"You two take care of him well," Paul says, already back to tapping away at his computer, either working on new ideas for the three of them or just fucking around with no clear goals.

It's a compliment neither of them have been paid before and so Ryback thinks about how to respond to it, listening to the sounds of Curtis all but forcing Cesaro into his bunk before agreeing to sit with him until he falls asleep. Even with the distance between them and the muffled quality of Curtis's voice, Ryback can tell he's going to heave a put-upon sigh as soon as he returns to the couch. Cesaro isn't perfect, and he can be a little whiny sometimes, but it's honestly a good thing about him because it's helped Curtis and Ryback work on their patience skills, something the two of them have long been lacking during their careers.

"Thanks," Ryback finally says, nodding in Paul's direction before turning to stretch his legs out across the couch, using one of his arms as a pillow for his head instead of actually hunting down a real pillow. "I didn't think you'd be so cool with everything when it went down. Like, I thought you might actually get upset we were all messing around or something."

It's not really something he's voiced prior to now and he isn't sure if he should have said anything, but keeping it to himself seems wrong and he wants to get it out there. When he and Curtis first got involved with each other, he was half-convinced their manager would flip shit and abandon them as his clients. For whatever reason, he didn't and now they might have Tag Team Championship gold somewhere in their future. Okay, maybe not gold. Maybe bronze. Or more likely copper. Seriously, what the fuck are the belts even made of anymore? Aluminum?

Paul looks over at him with an expression that clearly says, _You are an idiot for even going there and you should know better._ "You should have seen ECW in its heyday. I'm almost one hundred percent certain Raven screwed every guy on the roster and then some. And I'm almost ninety percent certain Stevie Richards got around just as much. It's not something to get mad over."

Curtis rejoins them a couple minutes later, giving Ryback a look before stretching out on top of him on his side, head resting on his shoulder. They've perfected this position over the months they've been working together and this is just right. Ryback sifts his fingers through Curtis's soft brown hair, easily able to imagine just how much effort it took to retain his patience while Cesaro fell asleep. To pay him back for it, Ryback will be the one who sleeps on the bottom bunk. Cesaro has a habit of crawling into bed with whichever one of them is on the bottom bunk.

"I am so ready for tomorrow night. Pay-per-views are fun. And all those CM Punk chants we'll have to endure will just be fucking hilarious." Curtis smirks and Paul makes a choked noise of laughter from where he's sitting as well. Punk is officially retired, and the fans are pissed.

Ryback nods and kisses the top of his head. "HD picks up everything, too."

They stay there for about an hour more, just settling into each other and listening to the sounds around them, the typical sounds of travel. It's a half-hour longer than Paul, who finally shuts his laptop and heads back to the bunks. Even though they technically have more room to stretch out, neither of them moves and Ryback just has to smile at how much having Cesaro with them has helped them iron out the issues in their relationship. There's no jealousy because they share and share well—neither of them lay specific claim to the gorgeous Swiss man and stick to _ménage a trois_ when it comes to the bedroom, ensuring no one is left out. It helps that Cesaro has a higher sex drive than either of them and so can take two rounds of sex when they have the time for it, and it doesn't hurt at all to hear him lose his English in the midst of everything.

But eventually enough is enough and they head to bed, exchanging a kiss before Curtis pulls himself up onto the top bunk and settles in. Ryback takes the bottom, punching the pillow into submission before flopping down and just waiting. Sure enough, muffled movements and the soft sighs and grunts across the aisle start precisely when they always do, a sign Cesaro just can't sleep alone for an extended period of time. He slides out of his bunk and stumbles over, rubbing at his eyes and grasping the divider between the bunks to keep himself steady on his feet.

It's a bit of a battle to get them positioned correctly in the small space because while Cesaro is a hell of a lot more compact, neither of them are small by any stretch of the imagination. But they manage as they always do, Cesaro pinned between Ryback and the wall, legs and arms wrapped around him because _cuddler_ is not the appropriate term; _octopus_ is. Ryback kisses him softly on the lips and Cesaro is enough awake that it turns into a lazy make-out session after a few minutes. Then eventually they're both too tired to keep it up and just lay there, looking at each other.

"Fucking gorgeous," Ryback whispers because Cesaro needs it sometimes and late at night when he's lonely and a bit vulnerable seems like the perfect time, really. Swagger fucked his head up so _bad._ "Swear I'm gonna be glued to the screen during your match. Those goddamn bands you wear around your thighs—I'm gonna yank those off as soon as you get backstage."

He still remembers the marks on Cesaro's back, the ones he played off when he walked through the backstage area as mementos of his matches, but no. There's no way and now they know there really is no way. The fact Swagger put those marks there is enough to piss Ryback off and make his blood boil, and all he wants is _one match_ with the blond fucker, _one match_ to put him down and keep him down, but Paul knows better and will never let it be booked. Neither he nor Curtis will have an in-ring chance to pay the bastard back for what he did to their lover.

Cesaro drifts off to sleep not much later but Ryback just lies there, running through his thoughts because now he can't sleep. Considering how close he was moments ago, it's a little frustrating and he shouldn't be surprised when his frustration wakes Cesaro right back up, has him mumbling in a voice barely coherent through his sleep-trodden accent. "Go to sleep."

"I'm trying to go to sleep. It's not exactly happening right now," Ryback murmurs, keeping his voice low because waking up Curtis this late at night is just asking for trouble.

"You are impossible." Cesaro curls tighter into him if that's even possible, mumbling something that might be words or might just be noises at this point. "Go to sleep. _Payback_ is tomorrow."

Ryback wants to remind Cesaro that he _knows_ when the pay-per-view is, thanks, but he just stays quiet instead and rubs soothing circles into the other man's back. Imagining the marks that had once been there—it's enough to almost make his stomach knot up. _Almost,_ damn it.

Instead, he tilts his head, brushes a kiss across Cesaro's lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, go to sleep." Cesaro's face goes right back to being pressed in against his neck and Ryback chuckles, pulling him closer and just holding him.

And it's then, after that, that he's finally able to fall asleep.

* * *

_**A/N: "My client, Brock Lesnar, conquered the Undertaker's undefeated streak at WrestleMania." Those will be the last words I remember before I die, I guaran-damn-tee it at this point. So, here we have some nice cuddling prior to Payback and just a little glimpse at their relationship with Paul Heyman and whatnot. Yet again, thank you all so much for supporting this story and this strange little group of men that have quickly grown on me.**_


End file.
